


crush you with my voice

by isthisgospel (ActonFTW)



Series: Welcome to Fall Out Disco [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Mentions of the Best Buy Incident, Pete Wentz's Suicide Attempt (Best Buy Incident), it's not explained or anything so no trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:58:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActonFTW/pseuds/isthisgospel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz hears a voice on his radio.</p><p>A Fall Out Boy/Welcome to Night Vale crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crush you with my voice

“... _and on Saturday_ ,” a low voice crackled through the airwaves as Pete finally tuned his car radio to a working station, “ _something you now know will cease to exist and you will not be sad about it. And that wraps up our community calendar for this week._ ”

Pete froze mid-fist pump to stare at his radio. That was--strange, to say the least. But then again, Pete Wentz was no stranger to the strange.

He himself qualified as a strange thing, if he wanted to. He didn’t sleep often, drank ungodly amounts of coffee, wrote shitty poetry whose words only made sense in his own mind, and literally just up and left his hometown of Chicago on a whim. (The whim, in fact, was that his last girlfriend had broken up with him for being too needy, too time-consuming, too desperate; but the point was he was on a road trip to get over his broken heart, or something, even if he didn’t feel all that broken. Whatever.)

But back to the point: Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III had a strange name, a strange life, and a strange heart--so when he heard something that he thought was strange, he got excited. Very excited, very quickly.

“ _But back to our main topic of the evening_ ,” the surprisingly sweet voice continued on the vaguely buzzing AM station. “ _Politics. Yes, I know, it’s boring and controversial and all that, but I really feel that it’s an important issue. And we have so many different candidates for mayor this year, so I think it warrants just a little airtime, don’t you?_ ”

Pete pouted--existence during the community calendar was hilarious, definitely Pete’s brand of strange; but the lovely, lovely voice went to politics? That was pitiful. He’d rather drive through the hot desert night in silence. He went to change the station but was cut off by the announcer.

“ _This isn’t the first time we’ve had a severed limb run for mayor here in Night Vale_ ,” the voice pointed out quite nonchalantly. Pete swerved on the road, eyes lighting up. “ _However_ ,” it continued to explain, “ _this is the first time a severed limb is running against the body to which it was once attached._ ”

Pete snorted delightedly, drumming his hands on the steering wheel and scanning the pitch black night he was driving through.

“ _And my personal favorite candidate is also a first—the first woman of African-American descent to run_ ,” the voice continued in brighter tones. God, this man had a great voice. “ _Doesn’t ‘Mayor Pamela Winchell’ have the nicest ring to it? And, of course, her policies are absolutely top notch. She wishes to increase funding to the arts programs in public schools, and implement New Egyptian Communism as the next hierarchy for the Community Service Board._ ”

A laughed ripped its way up Pete’s throat. He hadn’t laughed like that—well, in months. The whole Best Buy thing kind of put him off humor for a while, and everyone he knew was afraid to make jokes around him anyway. He vaguely remembered that it had been a while since he had spoken out loud and he should probably work on that, shouldn’t he? He shrugged and smiled, reaching for the volume and turning it up just a little more.

“ _And with that, Night Vale, I think it’s high time we all get some sleep_.” Pete frowned and leaned back a little bit, foot slowly coming off the gas. Someone honked behind him, and he sped up and listened intently. “ _Don’t forget to vote for mayor tomorrow—you really can make a difference in our small desert community if you do. Just whisper you vote into the dying embers of a campfire made of old vinyls, bones, and Webster dictionaries. Stay tuned to hear live audio from the Acton-Hurst Mortuary. Sweet dreams, Night Vale. Sweet dreams._ ”

Pete felt distressingly empty when the lovely voice signed off and the radio went static. This was a brand new low for him. Impressive, right? Just when he had repeatedly hit rock bottom, the one thing to make him happier than he had been for months had to leave. Just like everyone did. This was worse than when Ashlee broke it off with him (which wasn’t even that bad, he just had no focus, no anchor anymore. He just felt like a ship lost at sea and didn’t even care). This came close to ranking to that night in the Best Buy parking lot, overdosing on—

“ _Hello_?” a quiet voice came onto the radio. “ _It’s, uh, me. Patrick. I-I know you were expecting sounds from the mortuary, but Intern Cecil just double dared me to come on and—_ ” he paused and swallowed audibly.

Pete was enchanted. This… Patrick sounded entirely different than the one who was on air a few minutes earlier, but there was no doubt it was the same lovely voice. He just sounded so timid, and so, so adorable—Pete had no idea what he looked like, but he would bet his left butt cheek that _Patrick_ was blushing right now.

“ _Yeah, so Cecil’s convinced that I have the voice of an angel—which do not exist, angels most definitely don’t exist—and he wants me to sing something for all of you._ ” The metallic, discordant vibrations that usually accompanied picking up a guitar rang out over the airwaves. “ _Also, musical instruments are un-banned Monday and Thursday nights in July, so I can play a something for you too_.”

Pete’s entire body was vibrating with something—excitement, anticipation, ecstatic joy, most likely a little bit of lust—so he pulled over to the side of the road, just in case. A few cars zoomed past him, and then the night was quiet.

Patrick sucked in a deep breath. “ _So, uh, this is a cover of ‘Starman’ by David Bowie. I dedicate this to any listeners looking at the void and the stars._ ”

The chords flowed easily from the guitar and Patrick was humming hesitantly until the verse started. Pete was suddenly glad he had pulled over to the side of the road because _holy shit this guy could sing_ and he probably would have crashed upon hearing the smooth glide of notes from his voice. It was spectacular and soothed Pete in ways he wasn’t aware he could be soothed. When he crooned the last notes, Pete was half-asleep (and half-hard), but was started into full awareness by a high-pitched squeal.

“ _Oh my god, Patrick!_ ” a new voice gushed. “ _Your voice! I_ —”

Patrick cleared his voice uncomfortably. “ _Happy, Cecil? I sang on air for you. Ta-da!_ ”

Pete smirked at the sarcasm dripping from his tone. He heard the big, smacking wet noise of a kiss (presumably Cecil kissing Patrick, because what else?) and hurried footsteps with a distant “ _Oh my god, thank you, Patrick Stump!_ ” as a door shut. He sighed and let out a low chuckle.

“ _Interns_ ,” he said in an affectionate, long-suffering tone. “ _So, um_ ,” he cleared his throat again. “ _Please don’t send hate mail to Station Management or track me down and tell me my voice sucks or that my guitar playing was mediocre. I’m much better on drums, and—you know what? Just forget this ever happened. And, uh, sweet dreams again, Night Vale._ ”

The radio went back to static, and Pete reached over and turned it off. He breathed deeply through his nose and made a quick decision. Pulling back onto the highway, he felt a calm sense of purpose he hadn’t felt since that one time he tried making a band with his friend Joe. He took the next exit and went to the first convenience store he saw, buying a Nevada state map and sidling up next to the bored college girl who was working there.

“Excuse me, are you a local?” he asked, batting his eyelashes at the skinny brunette. She nodded and popped her bubblegum.

He grinned widely at her, mostly teeth. “Do you think you could give me directions to Night Vale?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Pros and Cons of Breathing" by Fall Out Boy.


End file.
